Escaping Anatomies
by cliche catastrophe
Summary: He's the guy in the corner of the restaurant who doesn't restrain himself from vociferously complaining when he unearths a hair in his mushroom sauce. Spencer babbling about his alter-ego.


The greater part of my time is spent splattering paint, molding clay, bashing metal, scribbling with pencils, setting random shit on fire, kissing hot chicks and generally just acting like an overtly energetic four-year-old spastic. But deep inside, deep, deep, deeply deep inside my shriveled red beating heart, there isn't just a retarded pubescent energy, but there's an emotional guy called Troy. And before you jump to negative conclusions about me, I was held against my will to buy nineteen bags of microwave popcorn and camp out from dusk to dawn in front of the DVD store waiting for High School Musical to come on sale.

Two peanuts walk into a bar. One was a salted. See, that's what I'm good at; being an all round clown, buffoon and joker and that's how people come to know and love me. And I just want you to know, that no matter how dull, uninspiring and overall disappointing my life seems to be, just know that I'll always have my charming looks, dry wit and amusing sense of humor.

I've always imagined Troy as a badass, intimidating version of me (not that I'm not badass, because I'm relatively badass at everything I accomplish) with a long black trench coat and that brooding forehead that some say they find appealing. I'm sure I'd never want to _be_ him in a sense, but unfortunately he's a part – a small part, but a part nonetheless – of my astoundingly endowed persona. I'm certain that if it ever came to a point in my life where Troy tried to escape, it would utterly and outright end life as we know it.

He's the guy that sits in front of the traffic lights in his costly, sleek sports car and sticks his rude fingers up impolitely at elderly, wrinkly ladies who walk terribly slowly across the street when their frail bones struggle to carry them. He's the guy in the corner of the restaurant who doesn't restrain himself from vociferously complaining when he unearths a hair in his mushroom sauce. He's the guy who doesn't hold back from sitting in his own personal space bubble of _stanky_, because he thinks that personal hygiene is for losers. He's fundamentally me, albeit I don't act on my thoughts (minus the occasions I act completely out of self-impulse for the greater good) and instead I suppress my desires.

Well, I wouldn't say there were desires exactly. More concealed, whimsical and uncharacteristic out-of-the-usual-run-of- things big black holes of bottomless feelings and missed opportunities that would otherwise quench my rare need to be more badass than customary. Yeah, sounding like an ardently miserable emo comes _oh so hard _to me.

Yes. If Troy was to somehow find a way of climbing out of the various holes in my body, (the non boorish kind of my anatomy) then everybody on the face of the earth would carry big metaphorical **I hate Spencer Shay** signs and walk around spitting at my feet and criticizing and nagging me about discourtesy and being blatantly impolite. Yeah, so it might come as a big ole' dramatic shock that big brother, dimple grinned, crazy ass Spencer has dark thoughts. That is, if you consider the need to push an old lady out of the road _dark_.

And not to mention the zealous rejection from the ladies I would get, which would ultimately ruin my life.

It may be astonishing for you to discover, but I do control myself. It's just that sometimes, Troy is so powerful that from time to time I let his identity slip and childishly rage at the lolly pop lady for letting the little school kids over the road when I'm hurriedly on my way to meet a deadline for one of my clients. But yes, despite all that is my awful alter-ego Troy, I can control myself.

Everyday, I deliberately control myself to be wary of my baby sister's safety and always keep my eyes open for adamant danger. Everyday when Carly leaves to get some take-out smoothies from across the street, I sit in the kitchen and watch to make sure that her crazy blonde friend Sam doesn't suffocate the technical producer with couch cushions. Everyday -- Well, most days -- I take care of all the people I love because that's just who I am.

I'm a Shay, and we Shay's can't help but feel the impetuous need to take care of the people we love.

But Troy's not one of us. He's a immoral, scandalous, disreputable, hotheaded notorious jerk. And until the day comes when someone pulls too tight on the elastic, or sticks another straw on the camel's back, you're just going to have to deal with polite, madcap, wacky, artistic Spencer Shay.

And if you don't think he's full of all kinds of win, then I think you should just leave earth and go back to whatever weirdo planet you came from. That's just my two cents.

* * *

I know it was slightly out of character for Spencer, but it's always nice to see another side of a person, even if that other side is a trench-coat-wearing inexcusably mannered guy named after a High School Musical character. And before ask, or complain, nope I am most definitely not a High School Douche-ical fan. In fant, I'm probably the most opposite as opposites can be.

Whilst I was writing this, I could just hear Spencer's voice in the back of my head, as if telling me what to write. I hope that's not weird.

Anyway, here's the little fun dialogue telling you to review.

Me: Hi, I put bundles of effort into this so it would be really kind of you to review. And if not for me, do it for…

Carly: (whispers) for the children.

Me: Yeah, for the children.

Carly: And world peace.

Me: Can't forget world peace.


End file.
